


Want You Close for Christmas

by Transom



Series: First Kisses [3]
Category: The Clash
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Paul fancies himself a matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transom/pseuds/Transom
Summary: Topper/Joe, Christmas-y fluff!
Relationships: Topper Headon/Joe Strummer
Series: First Kisses [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1349308
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Want You Close for Christmas

The Christmas party at Mick’s was in full swing, but Topper was having, quite honestly, a _shit_ time. 

The only thing was, he couldn’t understand _why_. After all, there was plenty of alcohol - plenty of substances in general - and all his mates were there. There were plenty of women too, and he had even caught one or two of them looking his way. None of the attention he had received so far, however, had yet to make him want to go over and do anything about it. 

So, as the night continued to wear unpleasantly on, Topper tried to mark it down to being one of those inexplicably bad days, where everything fucks you right off and nothing can cheer you up. Even the way Paul had begun to look at him was getting under his skin; all false concern stretched thinly over what was clearly amusement. 

“What’s crawled up your arse and died, then?” he teased, as he sidled up to Topper, nudging at him with his elbow. 

“Nothing,” Topper growled, sullen. 

“Haven’t you been drinking anything?” 

Topper crossed his arms over his chest. “Been drinking plenty,” he assured him, willfully ignoring the fact that he had a barely-touched bottle of beer behind him on the windowsill. 

Paul raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He brought his own beer up to his lips, letting Topper stew some more before nudging at him with his elbow again, this time insistent. 

“Look, over there. They’ve been all over him tonight.” 

Topper followed to where Paul was pointing with his bottle. Across the crowded room, near the stereo, Joe was chatting with a very pretty young woman Topper didn’t recognize. She was tall and blonde, and Topper didn’t know why he found that so dangerous, but he felt his lip curling of its own accord. 

“Wonder which he’ll choose,” Paul mused airily, picking at the label on his beer. 

Topper looked over at him, disgusted. “What, like it’s some kind of buffet?” 

Paul shrugged, smirking around his beer. He looked like he was privy to some kind of information that Topper didn’t have access to. 

Frankly, it was making him uneasy. 

“What’s that look for?” he demanded, deciding that direct confrontation would be his best course of action. 

Again, Paul shrugged, and Topper was beginning to grow irritated at the little Cheshire cat grin spreading across his face. “Oh, nothing. It’s just, you know…. Every time you look over at him – which has been quite often, I’ve noticed – and he’s chatting away with some girl, you get that _look_ on your face.” 

Topper was taken aback. “What _look_?” he demanded, reeling. 

“You know, that sort of constipated scowl thing that you do.” Paul twisted his face up in a grotesquely over-the-top demonstration, and Topper scoffed. 

“I do _not_.” 

“Yes, you do. You get all mopey as well. It’s fucking awful.” 

Topper glared at Paul, setting his jaw firmly. “Why are you studying me so closely for, anyway?” 

Paul rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I don’t have to. You’re so obvious, _Mick_ probably knows. Only reason Joe doesn’t is 'cause he’s even more oblivious than Mick.” 

“Oblivious about what, exactly?” Topper wasn’t sure if he liked the direction this conversation was going, and an uneasy feeling began to churn in the pit of his stomach. 

Paul seemed to notice his genuine distress, because his expression softened with pity. “Look. Why don’t you just talk to him? I’m sure he wants to get away from all these people anyway. Maybe you guys could find a room, maybe have a chat. Maybe more….” 

Topper was officially experiencing palpitations now. “Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?” He felt himself go all squirrelly, looking around him to make sure no one had seen it written across his forehead in big neon lettering. 

Because, if he was being completely honest with himself, he knew _exactly_ what Paul was talking about. He was aware that he had been looking over at Joe more than was strictly necessary for a supposed mate to do. And it hadn't started at this particular Christmas party, either. It had been happening for months, on stage, in the studio.… Fuck’s sake, it had happened in a caff at breakfast time when they were sat across the table from each other eating egg sandwiches! He couldn’t help it though – Joe was beautiful in even the most mundane scenarios, and Topper felt like just any other hopeless fan, unable, _unworthy_ to do anything but stare. 

Paul gave him an encouraging squeeze on the arm, but then he was gone, his point made painfully clear. Topper was left with a flock of butterflies in his stomach and what felt like the beginnings of a fever, but his mind was frighteningly calm. And then his legs were moving without his realizing it, taking him in the direction of Joe and the tall blonde, through the clumps of other party goers, most of whom paid him no mind as he strode determinedly through their midst toward his goal. 

That single-mindedness vanished in a puff of smoke, however, when Joe grinned at his arrival, his smile earnest and toothy and heartbreakingly lovely. Topper felt his legs nearly give out from under him, but by some miracle he kept upright. If only he could have managed to get his mouth working nearly so well. 

“Alright, Tops?” Joe asked, genial but still ever so slightly concerned, and Topper blushed when he realized what a fool he must have looked, striding up to him like that out of nowhere and then gawping at him like a simpleton. 

“Erm, yeah. You?” 

Christ, but he could’ve smacked himself on the forehead right then and there. This was already not going at _all_ like it had in his head. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Joe’s smile quirked with mild confusion. He glanced over at the woman who was still stood there, looking at Topper down her nose with one eyebrow raised. 

“Is this your friend?” she asked, somewhat archly even through her concern. “He looks a bit… peaky.” 

Joe barely took his eyes off Topper as he replied, a little irritated, “This is my _drummer_.” He reached for Topper’s arm, stroking it up and down, until Topper thought he would combust from the warmth generated by the gentle touch. “Sure you’re alright?” 

Topper worried his lip between his teeth. “Well, erm… maybe not entirely.” 

“You look pale,” Joe agreed, curling his hand around his bicep to hold him steady. “Do you need to sit down?” 

Topper nodded, face flaming with embarrassment at being treated like such a child, but he really did feel terrible, dizzy and overwarm, his stomach flip-flopping like mad. 

“Here,” Joe said, starting to pull him away. “Let’s go someplace quiet, yeah?” 

Topper nodded and allowed himself to be dragged away from the rest of the party, looking back to see the blonde Joe had been talking with fold her arms over her chest and shake her head. Topper couldn’t say that he blamed her, but part of him still rejoiced that Joe had chosen him instead. 

The only room that they could find that wasn’t occupied by couples in various states of undress was the bathroom, where Joe deposited him on the shut toilet lid and took a seat on the edge of the tub, facing him. “There,” Joe said brightly, “Now if you need to be sick, you can do it right here.” 

Topper managed a weak smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll have to take advantage of the convenience.” 

Joe tilted his head, curious. “What’s got you looking like this, then, huh? ‘Cause you look absolutely _leukemic_.” 

Topper shrugged, his heart pounding. “It’s nothing, I just….” He steadied himself with a deep breath. If he couldn’t do it now, after the universe had given him this perfect opportunity.... Well, frankly, he didn’t deserve it at all, then. 

But that didn’t make it any easier, especially not with Joe reaching for his hands and holding them between his, rubbing gently to warm him up. It didn’t make it easier when he was focused on Topper so intently, like he was the only person that mattered at that moment. 

“Paul told me I should talk to you,” he blurted finally, strangled and mortified. 

Oddly, Joe just looked amused and relieved, like he had known exactly what he was going to say. “Funny, that. He told me _I_ should talk to _you_. ‘Put him out of his misery,' were his exact words, I believe.” 

Topper was sure he had never gone more red in his life. “I’m gonna kill him,” he groaned, head in his hands. 

Joe laughed, taking Topper’s wrists and bringing his arms back down again. “Hold on a minute. He didn’t tell me anything I couldn’t have already worked out for myself, you know,” he admonished gently. 

Topper took back his earlier assessment. _Now_ he was as red as he had ever been in his entire life. “You mean… you knew?” 

Joe’s smile was enigmatic, and it might’ve been wishful thinking, but Topper thought he saw a light blush dust his cheeks. “I may've twigged it already, yeah,” he admitted. “Actually, I was sort of hoping to do something about it tonight, but, well… I kept getting preoccupied, as you saw earlier.” 

Topper fought to keep his jaw off the floor. “What… what exactly were you planning?” he asked, daring to hope. 

Joe was blushing now. “It’s _stupid_ , I know, but….” He reached down into his trouser pocket, fishing something out and holding it in his closed fist. He opened it up to Topper cautiously, revealing a little sprig of mistletoe. It wasn’t real, only cheap plastic, but to Topper it was the most beautiful plant he had ever seen in his life, twirling happily between Joe’s fingers in front of him. 

“You….” Topper choked, almost too overjoyed to move, “You really feel that way, too?” 

Joe nodded, shifting his gaze from Topper’s eyes to the mistletoe and back again. “I’ve always known, since I met you. There’s something about you… I just want us to be closer. If that’s alright with you?” 

Topper couldn’t help the huge, hopeless smile that broke on his face, and he scooted closer on the toilet lid so his and Joe’s legs were slotted together. “’Course it is,” he told him, heart pounding excitedly. “I want the same thing. I have, for a long time now.” 

Joe grinned, a bit shy, down at his lap. He twirled the mistletoe around some more, muttering wryly, “Suppose I won’t be needing this, huh?” 

“Oh, I dunno. Sort of fits the mood for the season, I reckon.” 

Carefully, Topper took the mistletoe from him, holding it just above his head. Joe’s small, shyly pleased smile was glorious, and Topper used his free hand to cup his neck, sliding it up to his jaw to angle him properly. 

“One thing, though,” Topper murmured, lips twitching with amusement when he saw Joe suck in a breath, teased by Topper’s lips so close to his. 

“Hm?” 

“You said I looked ill, didn’t you? Aren’t you worried I’ll be contagious?” 

Joe rolled his eyes at Topper’s joke, and closed the distance between them for their lips to finally meet, sweet and warm and perfect. Joe tasted of honey and lemon and beer, and Topper never thought a kiss on top of a toilet seat could mean so much, but there he was, being thoroughly, head-spinningly snogged. All too soon, though, Joe was pulling back, wearing a smirk and Topper’s fingermarks on his neck. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “’Cause I’ve caught it already anyway.” 

For that, Topper kissed him again, unable to deepen it as much as he would have liked, as he was grinning hopelessly against Joe’s lips. For Christmas, there was nothing better he could have wished for than to have him close, just like this, and he could hardly believe how lucky he was to get exactly what he wanted.


End file.
